


A Pleasure To Burn

by Archosaur



Category: Fahrenheit 451 - Ray Bradbury
Genre: Canon Compliant, Gen, How Do I Tag, Internal Conflict, Poetry, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Written for a Class, at least I think so, at least i hope so, but you can tell who I mean, cause why not, decided to post it here, fire imagery, none of the characters are explicitly named, the two chapters are just two different versions of the same poem
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-30
Updated: 2020-08-30
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:15:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26198446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Archosaur/pseuds/Archosaur
Summary: Wrote this poem for an English book project and thought I might as well post it here. It is supposed to be, in a poem format, Montag's thoughts and reasoning behind finally reading one of the books that he stole.
Kudos: 6





	1. Version 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was my first draft.

The fireman holds a book in his hand  
A piece of temptation, the fruit from the tree  
He holds it and for the first time in a long while he feels afraid

For it was knowledge that cast humans from paradise  
And it is only in the lack of knowledge that we are free from sin  
But what an empty paradise Eden was  
And what an empty paradise this world is

For what kind of haven could this be  
When the headlights of cars move as fast as falling stars  
And strike down saints and martyrs where they stand  
Where people kill and are killed because of the primal urge to feel alive  
If just for a moment.

There’s a hollow in his chest, his mind, and his heart that begs to be filled  
With words, with meaning, with poetry and song  
It begs to feel alive  
If just for a moment

He remembers a girl cast in moonlight  
He remembers a house filled with laughter  
He remembers seeing the sky for what felt like the first time  
He thinks that she was right, he isn’t happy  
He wonders if this will make him happy

Knowledge burns civilizations to the ground  
But oh how good the fire must feel  
Especially to a heart gripped by the depths of winter

His heart is racing but he is no longer scared  
For he has nothing to lose but this empty life  
He holds his saviour, his damnation in shaking hands  
He flips it open

And as he begins to read  
Some long-forgotten ember in his soul catches fire  
And it knows that it is always a pleasure to burn


	2. Version 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was the version that I submitted. It's longer and has punctuation.

The fireman is holding a book in his hand,  
A piece of temptation, the fruit from the tree.  
He holds it and for the first time in a long while he feels afraid.

For it was knowledge that cast humans from paradise  
And it is only in the lack of knowledge that we are free from sin.  
But what an empty paradise Eden was,  
And what an empty paradise this world is.

For what kind of haven could this city be  
When the headlights of cars move as fast as falling stars  
And strike down saints and martyrs where they stand?  
Where people kill and are killed because of the primal urge to feel alive,  
If just for a moment.

There’s a hollow in his chest, his mind, and his heart that begs to be filled  
With something more than just adrenaline and smoke.  
It begs for words filled with meaning, with poetry and song.  
It begs to feel alive,  
If just for a moment.

He remembers a girl cast in moonlight  
He remembers a house filled with laughter   
He remembers seeing the sky for what felt like the first time  
He thinks that she was right, he isn’t happy  
He wonders if this will make him happy

Knowledge burns civilizations to the ground  
But oh how good the fire must feel  
Especially to a heart gripped by the depths of winter

He longs for something more than just electricity.  
He is no longer the salamander,   
He can no longer breathe in the inferno.  
His skin longs for the warmth of a hearth,  
A much older type of spark.  
He knows it as much as the Hound does,  
He does not belong here.

His heart is racing but he is no longer scared  
For he has nothing to lose but this empty life  
Filled with empty people and empty thrills.  
He holds his saviour, his damnation in shaking hands  
He flips it open.

And as he begins to read  
Some long-forgotten wick in his soul catches flame,  
And it knows that it is always a pleasure to burn.


End file.
